Day Job
by JTheGoblinKing
Summary: Suppose Bob had lived at the end of the What about Bob episode of The Dresden Files. What would he do with himself?


Disclaimer: The Dresden Files belong to Jim Butcher and The Sci-Fi Channel. This story is based on The Dresden Files TV show. A sort of What if Scenario on what would happen if Bob had survived the What about Bob episode of The Dresden Files in which he briefly was resurrected.

The following does contain some very dark humour.

Creative inspiration by Sarah Judd and her constant babble about Terrence Mann and Bob.

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Dresden stared blankly at the white haired man across from him in the morgue. Bob, his old mentor and friend, the old ghost bound to the skull (though still bound to the skull) was now alive.

You would think this would have delighted the old ghost, to finally be able to touch and feel and interact with the world but no… This meant he had to… Get a job!

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Two weeks later:

The Texan tourist blinked his eyes at the strange little skull that sat on the shelf across from his booth in Applebees 'family restaurant.' Even in the dim lighting the rune and sigil covered skull was out of place in the happy atmosphere of the restaurant.'

The pale man with the white hair was dressed a little too well for Applebees but his name tag that read 'Robert Bainbridge' made it clear that in deed this figure was an employee of the establishment.

'Oh, just ignore that. It's just decoration. I assure you. May I take your order?' The white haired man said with the most indignant and annoyed tone anyone could hear from a waiter.

The Texan didn't seem to notice the tone. 'Yes, I'll have the chicken fried chicken. The peach cobbler. And Raspberry iced tea.'

'Let me ask you something,' The white haired man said as he leaned forward. 'Why is it called Chicken fried Chicken?'

'Whatdaya mean?'

'Isn't it a little superfluous?'

The man stared at him blankly.

Bob sighed, deciding to try to explain. 'Chicken fried chicken. Why not just call it chicken?'

'It's written on the menu as chicken fried chicken.'

'Yes, but think about it… It's just fried chicken.'

'No it ain't. It's chicken fried in the way you would fry chicken.'

'THAT'S-' Bob was about to say something that could likely get him fired but he saw his pimply faced manager glaring at him with his arms folded.

He swallowed his pride or as much of it as he could digest. 'Very good, sir.' He held out his hand to take the menu. 'Will there be anything else, sir?'

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One week later:

Attempting to function in the modern world proved harder than he had first thought. Working with Harry on cases was satisfying, sure. But he had to keep a low profile for fear that the High Council would see to return him to his eternal damnation as a ghost bound to a skull. He wanted to live out this life, short though it might be. And to use magick or take up employment having to do with magick would draw unwanted attention to himself.

And Bob realized to his own dismay… he had no modern skills at all.

He attempted being a shoe salesman and a toddler chucked a sneaker at his head.

He attempted to work in a bowling alley but that turned out to be the worst mistake of his second life. He might have been mortal but he was still bound to his original skull and when his skull was mistaken as a novelty bowling ball he found himself shrieking as he felt himself pulled by his wrists down the lane after the ball and right into the ten pins.

A flamboyant and extroverted man named Thomas allowed him to work in his coffee boutique / Hair salon but Bob fast caught on that Thomas' French accent was false. Perhaps it was not so wise to correct his pronunciation in front of his best customers…

Work as a Walmart Greeter was short lived when Bob was caught saying:

'Welcome to the ninth level of Hell. Mind the brimstone.'

And other unique greetings such as 'Go to Hell.'

'My dear, if I had your fashion sense and eye for style I would see to it that I not leave my home without my cane and seeing-eye dog.'

'Flee! Flee while you still can.'

'I have discovered that there are fates worse than eternal damnation.'

'Please kill me.'

And to one particular customer 'In my day women such as yourselves were burned at the stake.'

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The word had been given. The Wardens had found out the truth. The notorious dark sorcerer, Hrothbert of Bainbridge had somehow been resurrected. And it was Amber's solemn duty to return him to his eternal prison.

She prepared herself for her impending battle with the dark sorcerer. She knew she was up against a formidable opponent in Hrothbert of Bainbridge. A wizard whom, centuries ago, was considered all-powerful.

She was nervous. She knew he could easily kill her. It was time to face her enemy…

Tracking him wasn't too hard considering the little crystal skull still worked. He might have been mortal but he was still spiritually bound to that skull. When she found him though the sight she beheld filled her with both pity and humour.

Burger King: the smell of frying potatoes and hot beef permeated the air. The warden had the sword on her hip and ignored the strange stares she received as she walked to the counter.

The man before her was six feet tall and pale. His strange green-blue eyes were heavy from lack of sleep. His white hair was pinned to his scalp with the unfashionable aid of a hair net. And over that a small paper hat.

Bob knew a High Council warden when he saw it. Before she could speak he uttered 'Kill me…'

The End.


End file.
